Chapter 25
Evan rode in silence, his three minders flanking him like shadows.
The four of them had set out before first light, slipping out of the village without anyone noticing, and taken a little-used track that led south. Despite Evan’s questions, Fergus had refused to tell him where they were headed.
Their road wound through dales and patches of woodland filled with morning mist so that the world existed in shifting shades of silver and white. The horses’ hooves struck the packed earth with dull thuds that seemed far too loud in the eerie stillness.
No one spoke.
Evan kept his posture loose in the saddle, one hand resting lightly on the pommel as if this were nothing more than a friendly jaunt.
But inside, his nerves were twisted tight.
He was all too aware of the knife-edge he walked.
One slip, and it would all be over. Unconsciously, his hand kept rising to his neck, feeling the pouch beneath his tunic and the object within.
It had become his anchor. His lodestone.
His reminder that there was a life beyond this.
Ruby was waiting for him and he would get back to her.
The sun had risen well above the horizon but was still too weak to burn off the mist, when Fergus Key finally lifted a hand and they pulled their horses to a halt.
Squinting, Evan spotted something ahead, darker splotches just visible through the mist. Only when the mists shifted slightly with the breeze did he figure out what he was looking at: a camp.
Tents filled the spaces beneath the trees.
Horses were tethered nearby, and armed men appeared and disappeared into the mist like wraiths.
Evan swallowed, schooling his face to calm. Surreptitiously, he checked his knives were all strapped in place.
Perimeter guards challenged them, Key exchanged words, and then they were waved on. They wove deeper into the camp until Key pulled up his horse and dismounted.
“Wait here,” he ordered before walking off into the mist.
Evan swung down from the saddle, Tam and Angus keeping a close watch on him. Nobody challenged them, but many of the men aimed none-too-friendly stares in Evan’s direction. He tipped them an insolent greeting, doing his best to appear confident.
After several minutes, Key returned and jerked his head. “Follow me.”
He led Evan through the trees and curtains of mist to a large tent. Guards lounged outside but moved aside when they spotted Key, allowing Evan and his escort to step inside.
Within, the tent was comfortably, if sparsely appointed, with matting covering the dirt floor and a few folding camp chairs.
Seoras MacInnes was sitting in one of them.
The warlord looked exactly as Evan remembered—big, broad-shouldered, and with the look of a brawler about him.
His thick beard was streaked with gray now, his clothes rich but practical.
He had a ruddy face and at first glance appeared almost jovial, the sort of man who might host a feast and clap his guests on the back with bellowing laughter.
But Evan knew better.
MacInnes’ most striking feature was the empty socket where his left eye had once been. A scar crossed it that pulled slightly when he smiled. And when that smile vanished, the air itself seemed to grow cold.
MacInnes’ face creased into a smile as Evan entered. “Ah! Evan Campbell!” he boomed, his voice rich with warmth and welcome. “It has been far too long. So how is my young apprentice?”
Evan forced a grin. “Hello, Seoras.”
The warlord strode forward and clasped Evan’s shoulders like a long-lost friend. “I’m pleased to see ye still alive.”
“On that, we wholeheartedly agree.”
MacInnes snorted a laugh and gestured at the table. “Come. We have much to discuss.”
Evan followed him, aware of Fergus Key and the others stationing themselves by the tent flap, blocking his escape. He forced himself to concentrate on the table MacInnes indicated. It was covered with maps of the region around Edinburgh, with several points marked in charcoal.
MacInnes tapped one of those points with a meaty finger. “Ye did well with the Byre and Clough estates.”
Evan shrugged. “A small thing.”
“Not at all,” MacInnes replied. “Closing the roads between those estates disrupted patrols exactly as we needed.”
Evan studied the map. Several points had been marked with symbols. Militia positions. Roads. Supply routes.
Seeing his gaze, MacInnes gestured. “There are loyal men waiting across the countryside. Men who understand what Scotland needs.” He traced a line toward Edinburgh. “When my final shipment arrives, they will move, each force striking at the same time.”
Evan nodded. The deployment around Edinburgh looked like a noose.
MacInnes smiled broadly. “By the time the city realizes what is happening, it will already be ours.”
“A bold plan.”
MacInnes chuckled. “The best ones always are.”
Evan leaned over the map, pretending to study it. “Timing will be everything.”
“Aye.” MacInnes straightened, fixed Evan with a stare. “We only need one more thing to complete our encirclement.” He tapped another location on the map. “We need yer lands.”
“Then ye have them. Everything is in place.”
MacInnes stared at him and Evan forced himself to meet the warlord’s one-eyed gaze. The moment stretched, silence filling the tent.
Then MacInnes began to laugh, a delighted, almost child-like laugh. He clapped his hands. “Magnificent! Fergus, didnae I tell ye he would be convincing!”
Fergus Key nodded. “Oh, he’s a natural.”
Evan’s stomach tightened with unease. “What are ye talking about?”
MacInnes’ expression changed instantly. The warmth vanished and his face hardened like stone. “Oh, Evan,” he said softly, almost sadly. “Did ye really think ye could best me?”
Evan’s hand drifted toward the knife at his belt. But before he could move, the tent flap burst open and two men dragged someone inside. The figure was bound and gagged, badly beaten. Evan’s blood ran cold.
It was Hamish.
MacInnes gestured lazily. “Remove the gag.”
The cloth was pulled free and Hamish coughed. “Evan, I’m sorry. They were waiting for me when I got home—”
MacInnes struck him across the face. Hard. Hamish fell to his knees. Evan’s hands curled into fists and he took a step forward but MacInnes held up a hand.
“No further if ye please. Did ye think I didnae know that yer little messenger here was carrying information to yer brothers? I knew all along, ye fool! And I allowed ye all to see what I wanted ye to see.”
Evan’s pulse thundered as MacInnes stepped closer, so close Evan could smell the beer and onions on his breath.
“Ye have always been too clever for yer own good, Campbell. And that makes ye arrogant. It makes ye think everyone around ye is less intelligent than ye are. That was a mistake. Because I’ve been playing this game far longer than ye have. I know every trick there is.”
“I...dinna know what ye are talking about,” Evan replied. “I did everything ye asked me to.”
“Aye, ye did. And I’m grateful. I’m even more grateful that ye fell into my trap so wholeheartedly.
” He grinned and leaned close conspiratorially.
“Shall I let ye into a secret? The attack on the capital isnae happening on the night of the high tide. It’s happening tonight.
Even as we speak, my men are securing yer estate.
Even as we speak, my cargo is being moved through yer lands—enough weapons to make the crown tremble.
Even as we speak, the militias we have positioned around the capital are preparing to move.
All they wait for is my word. And when yer lands are secured, I will give that word.
How does it feel to be the one who will give me victory?
” MacInnes smiled cruelly. “By the time yer allies act in two days’ time, it will be too late. It will already be over.”
Despair hit Evan like a physical blow. He locked his knees to keep himself from staggering. All his dreams of a future with Ruby turned to ash. He would never see her again. All he could hope for was that Niall and Charlie would find a way to get her safely home.
MacInnes nodded to Fergus Key. “We dinna need our dear Campbell anymore. Kill him.”
Behind him, steel rasped from scabbards. Evan drew his knives and spun to find Fergus Key and the others clasping drawn swords.
“I’d like to say it’s been a pleasure,” Fergus Key said. “But we both know I’d be lying. Putting steel in yer belly, however, will be a great pleasure—”
He cut off abruptly as a shout came from outside, followed by the clash of weapons.
MacInnes scowled. “What the—”
“Attack!” someone yelled.
As everyone turned to look at the tent flap, Evan seized his opportunity. He lunged, drove his elbow into Fergus’s face, knocking him down, then spun and slashed Hamish’s bonds in one swift motion.
“Run!” he bellowed.
He yanked Hamish to his feet then the two of them turned and barreled into Evan’s minders, shoving them aside before they had time to recover, then dived through the tent flap, MacInnes bellowing at his men to stop them.
Outside, the camp was a seething mass of confusion.
Mist still clung beneath the trees and the distorted sounds that reached Evan seemed to come from all sides—the bellowing of voices, the tromp of feet, the clang of steel on steel.
Men came charging through the mist only to disappear again as quickly.
“This way!” Evan cried. He grabbed Hamish’s sleeve and pulled him through the murk, dodging tree trunks and tents, trying to get his bearings.
But he skidded to a halt as he spotted a large shadow emerging from the mist ahead. The shadow resolved into a group of armed men charging from the trees carrying farm tools, hunting spears, and old swords.
And at their head strode Niall.